


Knights Thirteen

by LadyKnightSkye



Category: Transformers (Bay Movies), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Genderbending, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-27
Updated: 2015-04-19
Packaged: 2018-02-22 21:23:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2522267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyKnightSkye/pseuds/LadyKnightSkye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-AoE Alternate Universe. Optimus Prime sets out to take down the "Creators" who have hunted him for so long, but finds himself far from alone in his endeavor. Along with the crew of the newly liberated <i>Lost Light</i> and old friends he didn't even know he had, Optimus will engage in the most important battle of his life: to free his lost love, Elita One.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> A universe that grew out of a scenario originally thought up by tfautobotsrollout over on Tumblr. I wrote a little story that snowballed into this . . .

**Prologue: Shards of Memory**  
 _And so, Primus cut his skin and threw out his arm and lo, from seven perfect droplets of energon came the Seven: Prima, Solus, Megatronus, Vector, Quintus, Onyx, and Nexus. - The Covenant of Primus_

Lockdown's death sent a shock wave through his ship. The steeljaws screamed and the mercenaries howled with them. However, all the pain was not because they'd lost a beloved leader, but because their heads were pounding from programming finally broken by the death of its anchor. The steeljaws looked about themselves, bewildered and suddenly aboard a ship they'd never seen that smelled so wrong. The mercenaries all glanced around themselves, wondering why they were wearing strange armor, and almost as a unit began to rip the unwelcome stuff from their bodies. 

One mercenary in particular revealed a face that many a human would recognize. Blue optics took in the horror that was the ship and the being hissed. “What is this? What happened to this place?”

“Rodimus!” a voice floated up to the mercenary and the bot glanced down at a shortish male, a pert little beak set in an impish face. His own blue eyes shuttered quickly. “What's going on?”

The yellow bot glanced around. “I'm not sure Tailgate.”

He glanced around. “Have you seen Cyclonus?” he whispered. 

Rodimus gave him an gentle smile. “No, you're the first I've seen.”

He nodded, and the little bot known as Tailgate set off into the bowels of the ship, looking for his lost love. Rodimus tracked his movements, concerned with the readings being received from both personal instrumentation as well as the ship's HUD. Rodimus connected to the intercom system, still apparently functioning in this house of horrors. “Listen up, this is your captain speaking. I'm about to lift us above the atmosphere of the planet. Hold on to your afts and for the love of Primus don't get caught by the prisoners.”

Rodimus winced a bit, a shard of memory returning. The prisoners on this ship were some of the most dangerous beings in the known universe. “Whirl, you still here?”

There was a bit of banging behind the bot and then a wet thunk as a piece of some creature – _Malphesian retrodax if memory served_ – slapped into the floor at Rodimus's feet. The orange and yellow bot turned to see a teal blue femme stalking into the bridge, her cyclopean optic blazing yellow from the flat black plane that was her face. She was still ripping off pieces of silver armor that had acted to shape her body into the uniform silhouette of the mercs even though her natural shape was more angular and craggy. “You called?”

Rodimus grinned at her. “Aw, Whirl, should you really be starting fights with the prisoners?”

“Only when they start 'em first.” She pushed past and took a seat at one of the consoles. “Where do you want me to take this baby?”

Rodimus studied the layout of the stellar system they found themselves in. The orange bot pointed at the closest gas giant. “There. We'll jettison the prisoners into the planet's atmosphere. It'll take care of our unwanted guests.”

Whirl made a sound that could either be glee or awe. “That is quite cold, my Captain. Have you been taking lessons from Justice Tyrest or what?” She entered in the coordinates given, and the ship rose higher into the planet's sky. 

An orange head shook slowly. “What do you remember about yourself?”

This stopped the female. “Not much. I remember that my name is Whirl and that my Conjux Endura is Rung and that both of us hail from Archon under the leadership of Justice Tyrest, Knight of Honorable Law. I am a chronometer-maker with navigation training and I was . . .” 

She trailed off, her opaque gaze nonetheless far away. “I don't remember why I am on this ship,” she murmured. “The last thing I really remember is speaking with the Justice about a chronometer for his Conjux . . . And then I was here.”

Rodimus nodded. “And I know of you, I remembered your name and duty, but I don't think I've ever met you before.”

She nodded. “I know your name is Rodimus and that you're the Captain when Lockdown is away, but I know nothing beyond that about you.”

“And I know Tailgate and Cyclonus . . . but I don't know anything about them beyond their names and duties,” the other bot continued.

Whirl's nods became much more vigorous. “I know of them, but I have no idea who they are. It's the same for everyone else on this ship.”

The yellow and orange bot looked out onto the star field that had taken over the ship's viewport. “Well, Whirl of Archon, I am Rodimus Prime, _siireh_ . . .”

Whirl didn't even notice the pause. “ _You're a Prime?!_ As in a Cybertron Prime?! My Primus, Rung is going to have a Nelixian duck when he finds out!”

“I'm of the Generation 2,” the Prime murmured flatly, gaze far away, “My father was of the Generation 1.”

“Holy Primacon on energon, _really?!_ ” Whirl cried, her optic totally trained on Rodimus. “Not just a Prime but a grandchild of the Seven?! The Originals?! _The First of all the Children of Primus?!_ ”

“My _prohta_ was Solus Prime, Lady of Creation. My _prohto_ was Megatronus Prime, Lord of Destruction,” the bot continued to recite as if remembering some long ago speech made by a herald.

Whirl had since fallen into spasms of engine revs, almost unable to process the magnitude of the personage she was currently sitting next to. “But they only had . . . one . . . And he . . .” she choked out. “ _Frag me sideways with a spork._ ”

“I am Rodimus Prime,” the bot said again, “ _Siireh_ Optimus Prime, _daymah_ Elita One.”

At this point a smallish mech with orange plating walked onto the bridge and smiled at Whirl. “There you are Whirl,” he chirped, “I was so worried when I woke up -”

She turned to him and flailed in the general direction of Rodimus. “ _Ahfigekatssshavaprmak!_ ”

Rung of Archon rolled his optics upward behind the lenses of his corrective eyewear. “My love, you know I can't understand you when you're having a fit. We've talked about this.”

She grabbed him by the collar and pulled him until his face was flush with her plate. “ _She's the great-granddaughter of Primus! Twice over! Wait, also granddaughter because her daymah is one of the first Ones!_ ”

“What?!” Rung then proceeded to have the Nelixian duck that Whirl predicted.

Rodimus took not one notice of the two of them fan-gasming behind her. She merely stared at the speck on the horizon that was quickly heading in the other direction, only visible because of the trail of particulate it left in it's wake. “ _Rehrah_ ,” she whispered as she touched the glass. “ _Rehrah_ , wait for me.”


	2. The Lady in the Tower

_She walks in beauty, like the night_  
 _Of cloudless climes and starry skies,_  
 _And all that's best of dark and bright_  
 _Meet in her aspect and her eyes_ – Byron  


Once a month the highest of the Creators gathered in their opulent capital city on the planet of Quintessa and piled into the tiered throne room of the High Judge. This pilgrimage had been a tradition of their people for millennia as they returned month after month, year after year in hopes that they would be witness to a spectacle that hadn't been seen in this universe since the destruction of the Eurythmians an eon before. There were still a few around, some on Lockdown's prison ship acting as slaves to the mercenary beneath his programming, and some reportedly running around with the rebel Cybertronians. 

The High Judge sneered just thinking of the Cybertronians. The other twelve worlds had fallen in line perfectly, cowed by the Creator's might, a might that had created them, or so they told the robotic races. Even the lower Creators believed that perfect lie that it had been they who created all life in the universe. Only the High Judge understood that while a great many organic races owed their being to them, no mechanical race did. For all the High Judge knew, the robots really were the children of their god Primus and goddess Primacon. 

However, the Cybertronians had always bucked the Creators' authority, calling them the Oppressors, always praying for the return of their Primes. Return the Primes did too – thanks to the one Prime the Creators had captured and forced to become one of their Knights. War had broken out, and it had been the recapture of this one female that stood on the dais before him that had ended it. Well, her capture and the strategic destruction of her home planet. 

Eurythmia was no more, and the eleven remaining worlds had lost their rebelliousness after Cybertron was whisked away using the technology of the Prime known as Vector. Thus, the Creators had settled into a peaceful existence as they used their robotic underlings to bring them to the very heights of power. Their empire was at its peak, and the High Judge had felt comfortable sending his loyal Lockdown out to recover the errant Knights who had escaped with Cybertron. Soon they would even have that rebel, that traitor in their hands.

“But until then,” the High Judge mused aloud in his private seat, “We will continue to wait for the Lady of Lyric to sing.”

The female on the dais seemed to hear that, her blue optical sensors turning to him. She stood defiantly on the stage, her condemning stare the only thing greeting the Creators. Even with her recalcitrant demeanor, the lower nobility ooh and aah-ed over her. She was svelte, all sinuous aerodynamic curves and sensuous movements. Philosophers and historians had said that she was a fertility goddess of old given mechanical shape. The High Judge would agree that if she had been organic should would have been the ultimate object of desire, especially with a smooth plated face that was symmetrical and perfect. 

All Eurythmians had had that perfect mechanical beauty. It was said in their mythos that each mechanical race had been born from a different aspect of Primus through different methods, either alone or in concert with his beloved goddess Primacon. The Cybertronians were his warrior children, born of his own blood. The Archons were born out a debate he had with his goddess. The Paradrons born from his healing strength to be the healers of his people. The Eurythmians were said to have been born out of sexual reproduction between himself and Primacon, so that while the Cybertronian Primes were hailed as his first born, the Ones of Eurythmia were the children of his ability to create. 

And that was what the Eurythmians did, they created. Art, music, literature, they had flourished surrounded by all of it and sharing it with their brothers and sisters of the other races. This particular Eurythmian had been chosen out of all of them to attend the Creators because of her superior beauty and the fact that she was one of the nine Ones, the children who claimed Primus as _siireh_ , father, and Primacon as _daymah_ , mother. 

The High Judge rose, painting a smile on his face. He looked this last Eurythmian in the face, and intoned as he had many, many times before, “Oh please, Elita One, Knight of Beauteous Creation, will you not play your Kithara and sing to us?”

She looked to the instrument she held with its beautifully crafted amplifier that curved up to its artfully wrought laser sensors. “No.”

There was no outcry, not even a sigh of relief. The Creators simply stood and began to filter out of the throne room as they had for innumerable months before this, and, they anticipated, after this. They all understood that this caged bird would always refuse to sing. 

~~  
Elita One gazed upon the cityscape with sadness almost consuming her. Even with tens of thousands of years between now and then, the pain of her capture still gouged at her spark. She could still remember the anguished screams of her fellow Knights, and most importantly, his cry . . . 

With the practice of ages, she turned her thoughts from darkness to light. She thought of her old friends, the thirteen beings that had been forced to fall in line with the Creators' plans. Maccadam with his gentle manners and sharp wit, always ready with a story or a delicious recipe for silicibon or a glass of Nightmare Fuel. Tyrest who was always such a rules stickler, but ultimately a gentle mech who loved raising turbofoxes. Liege Maximo who even while being a gigantic aftshaft always managed to lift spirits with his off-beat optimism. Genteel Windblade with her ritualistic greetings and love for her people. 

But most importantly, she could still remember the first time she met him. 

She had been gathered with the others, speaking quietly. None of them truly believed the fiction that the Creators had been spreading about how they had been the masterminds behind the Tyran Races. Elita had been especially adamant – she remembered Primus and Primacon. The doors to their opulent meeting hall had opened admitting two Creators and one more robot. Elita had had her back to it, but she caught the looks of her fellows. Scourge and Liege Maximo looked slightly threatened, Riker and Tyrest looked excited, and Override and Pharma had looked interested. 

She was pulled from her reverie by a quiet voice. “My lady?”

Elita glanced down at her attendants, a small race the Creators called Nebulons that had been brought to serve her many, many years before. They were tiny, small enough to fit easily into her hands, but they were built on a bipedal body plan not unlike her own. They had what they long fur that flowed from the tops of their heads and framed their eyes, and the males had furry growths on their faces. Their skin ranged from dark brown to light beige as well as their hair coming in various colors. Eyes that could be brown as dirt or blue as sky or green as chlorophyll gazed up at her. Her attendants were all females, and Elita loved them all. 

The one who spoke was a young one who'd seen about twenty-nine birthing days. She was dark skinned and dark haired, but her eyes were a soft brown. Thalia was her name and she was the boldest of Elita's servants. “Lady?”

“Yes, Thalia?”

“Can you tell us a story?” the Nebulon asked, and internally Elita grinned. Whenever she grew sad, the woman asked for a story knowing that using her inborn gifts lifted her spirits. 

“And what story would you like to hear?”

An even younger girl piped up, “Can you tell us about how you met your mate?”

Thalia, intuitively sensing what had upset Elita in the first place turned to berate the young female, but Elita chuckled to signal her willingness. Thalia turned back to her lady as Elita seated herself on a specially made cushion letting her legs trail to her side as she leaned back against the wall. The Nebulons clambered up her legs with impressive agility until they had taken seats in her lap, across her legs and Thalia had taken up her usual perch on Elita's shoulder. The Creators hated that Elita allowed the Nebulons this liberty, but she found comfort in their warm weights. 

“You asked me to tell you of something I was just thinking about,” she began, her melodious voice washing over her audience. She waved her arms and the scene began to play in the air in front of them. “I was gathered with the rest of the Knights awaiting our thirteenth member. We were all discussing our new circumstances when the doors opened behind me.”

Elita looked out the window, her gaze soft. “I had my back to the doorway, so I wasn't the first one to see him. But I remember the looks on the others' faces. I thought it curious that one being could elicit such responses, but then I had to remember that this was a Prime were waiting on.”

“What's a Prime?” the young girl who had asked for this particular story asked. Elita realized that this must be the newest one, Chthya, a child of but eighteen years to replace Soria the elder. Soria had passed from this life not long ago. 

“The Primes were a Dynasty, one of the few Tyran lines able to reproduce. Reproduction amongst my species is rare, most of our young coming from the holy Wells of Allsparks. The Primes though, they like my line could reproduce, and reproduce they did. The Dynasty was many and varied, sprung from the Seven Original Primes. The six males bred with the one female producing the five lines: Warriors of Prima, Scientists of Quintus, Historians of Vector, Beasts of Onyx, and Priests of Nexus.” Elita changed the scene to show the Primes' faces when she said each name. 

The others had already heard this story, but young Chthya wrinkled her nose. “But you said that there were six males.”

Elita nodded. “So I did. The sixth male, Megatronus, was considered tainted since his particular aspect was that of Destruction.” His rather ominous face filled the room. “His brothers shunned him, but his sister Solus, the lone female, felt for his plight. They spent much time together and once Solus decided that she was done breeding with the others, she wanted to stay always with him. Their love is a staple of the Cybertronian ballads. By him she only had one child.”

“Ah,” Chthya said, “I see.”

“Do you now?” Thalia murmured where only Elita could hear. 

“As I was saying, I remembered the magnitude of the personage we were waiting on, and turned to satisfy my curiosity,” Elita continued. 

“And he was everything you'd ever dreamed of?” Chthya piped up much to the amusement of her fellows who were already in on the joke.

The robotic lady shook her head. “My Primus no! He was nothing more than a child who tripped over his own feet into a pillar the moment he saw me.” The scene played out as she had said, the poor gangly young Prime slamming into the pillar. 

Thalia and the other Nebulons laughed uproariously while poor young Chthya blushed for herself and for the piteous young thing that had been the Prime. “So he was young?” she asked. 

“In our way of marking age he would have been considered younger than you, little one,” Elita answered. “And we were cruel to him because of it.”

“Surely not you, my lady,” the small Nebulon breathed. 

Elita shook her head. “I was the cruelest of all. I could tell that he was smitten with me as most males get around a pretty female. He would cock his head and stutter, and I would cut him to the strut with my sharp words. Maccadam would refuse to serve him his famous beverages and Liege Maximo would strip away his pride with artful backhand insults. Dai Atlas and Scourge would beat him unmercifully in weapons training, and Override and Windblade would berate him on his lack of speed and finesse. Each and every one of the twelve did what we could to destroy him in any way but the literal one.” The scenes played out showing each abuse, from harsh words to uncalled for blows. 

Chthya looked as if all of her innocent dreams had been shattered. “But . . . but you were the heroes. Why would you treat him in such a horrible way?”

“Because we needed the Creators to strip him of his Knighthood,” Elita answered gently with a smile. “He was but a child to our way of thinking, but more importantly, they needed us to work as a team. We fully planned to rebel, but none of us could allow him to take part in either the Creators' plans or in our own. For him to participate in the Creators' scheme to take over our people fully he would end up fighting his own family, and to a Prime that is a cardinal sin. He would have been shunned forever, and should he kill one of his kin in that battle . . . None of us could allow it to happen. Our plan depended on seemingly being obedient to the Creators, so of course he couldn't participate in that either.”

She looked down at her lap and the scene changed again. It showed the young Prime struggling to his feet after being dealt a brutal smack-down by the one known as Scourge. The Nebulons looked on with reverence as the young Prime returned to his fighting stance, utterly ignoring the energon that flowed down his face from a broken antenna. “But he refused. Every harsh word was met with a promise to do better, to not bother, to be faster. Every blow was shrugged off as if it was his due. He took every abuse, and just kept. Getting. Up.”

The Nebulons watched Scourge dismiss the injured Prime, and as the young one turned, showed an expression of respect cross the Animatrian's face. “We couldn't help but secretly like the young one. He had all the ingredients for a great leader, but we did not let that sway us. We had to force him home.”

Chthya nodded. “The Creators never tried to stop you?”

“No,” Elita answered with a distinct chill in her voice, “In fact, it became a point of entertainment for them. Soon they even joined in, heckling him and making their own snide comments.”

The young Nebulon had tears streaking down her face as she watched it play out in the hologram floating in the air. “That's so wrong,” she whispered. 

“Yes, yes it was.” The Tyran lady smiled sadly though. “We wondered when the young one would break. Then, one night, I received a very strange message. I was told to stay in my hab suite, no matter what I heard. We were all kept on a training base on the edge of the empire at that time, a moon of Cybertron, point of fact. That was the night that the Primes returned to their home with a vengeance. They had been away from on business for Primus just as all the rest of the great ones had from my own sister Ones down to the tiniest Microns.”

Chthya smiled. “And they rescued you all?”

“Yes,” Elita said fondly, “The Primes pulled us all from our enslavement. I learned from one of the Warriors, an Omega Prime if I remember correctly, that the young Prime had been left there to safe guard a certain artifact of great importance – the Matrix of Leadership. It was a source of great power for it was the common point that all Tyran sparks sprang from. We learned that the young Prime had been feeding his mother and father information the entire time in order for them to come to our aid using it.”

Thalia chuckled. “I still say you all owed the young Prime an apology.”

“Oh, we did, but pride kept most of the others from doing so. I decided that I wanted to apologize, but found that whenever I approached him, the young Prime would run in the opposite direction.”

The ladies giggled at the sight, even sensitive Chthya. “He thought you really hated him didn't he?”

“Sadly, yes. And I had discovered that I admired his grit. He had endured unimaginable pain and humiliation to free a bunch of mechs and femmes who only showed him disdain. What a beautiful spark he had,” Elita answered. “Needless to say it didn't take us long to retake our own planets. I left Cybertron without ever getting to apologize.”

Chthya sniffed. “I believe that serves you right.”

Elita chuckled. “It does. I often thought of him over the next few years. Wondering how he was growing. Wondering if he was still the shy thing I had first seen tripping over his own big feet.”

The ladies all smiled at that. “And then the Creators made another push. All of the planets sent representatives to meet including us Knights.” She glanced down at Chthya. “And this time, I was the one who tripped over her own feet.” The accompanying scene caused much laughter. “I tripped right into poor Windblade, who later told me that she didn't blame me.”

She whirled her hand and called up a picture of the young Prime as he appeared to her then. “He was as beautifully made as any Eurythmian male. I will not lie, I thought him perfectly formed.” Then, the she laughed out loud. “But he still ran the other way when I approached. After my unfortunate incident with Windblade and my feet, I tried to speak to him. He quickly made his excuses. He would speak in the common discussions where I learned that not only was he a handsome thing, but also a keen warrior. It seems that he had been holding out on us so long ago when he was first introduced.”

“What do you mean?” Chthya asked.

The pink robot grinned. “We were told that he was of the Generation 4, a distant son of Quintus, a Scientist, and we had teased him accordingly. As it turned out, he was of the Generation 1 and a child of Megatronus Prime.”

Chthya's jaw fell. “He was the one child of Megatronus and Solus?!”

Elita nodded. “The entire time we had been beating him and berating him for being a weak Scientist, he was actually of the second most powerful Generation as well as being the son of Destruction, of War, himself. Scourge being Scourge had to challenge him to a fight and ended up having his aft handed to him in short order.”

“So, what made him let you speak to him?” Chthya asked.

A distant chime sounded, and Elita waved away her hologram. “I'm afraid that must wait for another night.” She turned to Chthya. “And this story must never be told outside of this room, understood?”

The young Nebulon nodded, understanding perfectly that the Creators were to never know that the Knight of Beauteous Creation ever spoke more than a few words at a time.


	3. Daddy's Girl

_I love my father as the stars — he’s a bright shining example and a happy twinkling in my heart_. -Terri Guillemets

_"A father is always making his baby into a little woman. And when she is a woman he turns her back again."_ \- Enid Bagnold

Optimus looked over his dented armor and sighed. He had taken care of the immediate threat – the Seed had been detonated safely here on the moon known as Io. However, he realized that he was going to have a few problems finding the Creators with only himself and some leg rockets as his only means of propulsion. He didn't particularly want to revert to a cometary form, especially since he didn't have any hard energon to help keep him powered up.

“Perhaps not one of your best moments, Optimus old friend,” he muttered to himself. He put his hands on his hips and shook his head. “And this is why I miss you Ratchet,” he whispered.

However, before he could take off again, he spied something moving in the void. He recognized the Knight's ship, and felt a bubble of rage well up. The thing that few humans understood but that his fellow Autobots knew well was that Optimus had the temper from Hell. Of course, his volcanic rage was not a by product of his father – Megatronus had tended towards quick flashes of temper that faded just as fast. No, oh no, his temper he got fully from his mother. Solus Prime was renowned for the volatile temper that had made her the biggest diva in the universe. The Great Southern Rift Valley on Cybertron was still a testament to her fury to this day. If he remembered correctly that particular episode had been set off by something Vector had done, but Optimus didn't fully recall what it was, just that Mama had been _torqued_ for days.

As it was he figured he'd probably be just as pissed for quite awhile after seeing what Lockdown had done to the Knights' beloved ship. He watched as a shuttle separated from the main body of the ship. Quickly he ran through his options. There was some cover, but there wasn't much. He was all alone and here was a troop of mercenaries that probably didn't take too kindly to his -

“ _REHRAH_!”

If anyone had seen the look on Optimus Prime's face, it would have been somewhere between bizarre and hilarious – bizarre in that that was a look no one would have ever expected from him and hilarious because his jaw was somewhere in the vicinity of his ankles. “Hot Rod?” he breathed. A figure jumped out of the shuttle, and raced for him. He took one step, and then another, and then another until he was running to meet the female that was barreling across the barren landscape. She was his image in orange and yellow with hints of red, but she had her mother's body type.

“Hot Rod!”

“Daddy!” she cried as she leaped into his arms.

Optimus embraced his daughter for the first time in a long time. “Little one,” he whispered, “Little one.”

She was murmuring over and over too, but soon it all became just meaningless syllables as the two basked in the weight and warmth of their embrace. Father and daughter stayed like that for an indeterminable amount of time before someone coughed discreetly from behind them. Optimus opened his optics to find himself facing a truly motley assortment of Tyran robots. He recognized the diminuitive Minicons of Rotan, the bestial Animatrians, twitchy Velocitronians, and huge Gigants. There were angular Archons mixed in with slim Sandokani and brightly plumed Paradrons. Neutronians stood stock still next to lithe Skallorites and peaceful Caminans. A few dour looking Moriturians sprinkled the crowd along with an equally small number of Eurythmians.

At the head of the motley crew was a male Archon that was almost as large as Optimus was and colored brightly in blue and red. He wasn't as angular as the regular Archon and Optimus thought he saw a bit of his old friend Tyrest in this one's face. The Archon smiled in greeting and gave a respectful bow. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Sir Optimus Prime. You honor us all with your presence.”

At that, but not without some glancing around on the parts of several bots, the rest bowed as well. Optimus nodded, acknowledging the obeisance. “All of you were prisoners on that ship?”

Rodimus broke from her father, giving him an uneasy look. “No, we were the ones running it. We have no memory of it, but we know that we are the crew of that house of horrors.”

The red and blue Prime hid his anger, but his daughter and the lead Archon sensed it anyway. “My lord,” the Archon began, “I am given to understand that we were the ones that attacked the blue planet and you before our awakening. I have stepped forward to offer my life in exchange for the rest of the crew.”

That snapped Optimus out of the rage he was about to go into. “Explain to me what happened.”

The Archon explained with some help from Rodimus – both of them looking piqued whenever the other would jump back in – about how the crew had awakened after Lockdown's death to find themselves trapped inside a super max prison wearing strange silver armor. No one had any memory of their time aboard the ship, instead only remembering what they did last on their home planets. One of the techno-savvy and resourceful Caminans had hacked into the system the humans called the “internet” and found out what they had been doing on that planet. That same Caminan had come to the Archon to report it.

“If I may?” one of the Paradrons piped up.

Optimus nodded to the male in bright red and white as the Paradron strode to stand beside the Archon. “Yes?”

He held out a hand and showed a hologram of coding. “I think I've found our problem. Someone created a clever little bit of code that was tied into Lockdown's spark signature. The code suppresses our own native processors' abilities to form memories or make decisions. In short, a mind control program.”

There was grumbling from the crowd, but a hand gesture from Rodimus and a look from Optimus quieted them. “Go on.”

The mech figited a bit. “It looks like as long as we were within range of Lockdown's spark signal – probably boosted by an amplifier and broadcast over the ship's comm lines – we were in effect his slaves. As soon as his spark ceased to exist, so too did the programming cease to function.”

“Can you delete the program?” Optimus asked.

“I can do one better,” the Paradron said, “I can turn it into a shielding program so that whoever did this the first time will find it much harder to do so a second. I can also replicate it so that it can be passed along to others.”

Optimus looked to Rodimus. “You're the Captain,” he murmured.

Her optics widened a bit, and then she smiled. “Get on it, First Aid. We're going to need it and especially my father, because, correct me if I'm wrong, but our next stop is going to be Quintessa isn't it?”

Optimus nodded. “I have a bone to pick with the ones who insist on being known as our Creators.”

“And you're going to rescue the lady Elita?!” cried out a teal blue Neutronian of small stature.

The looks on Optimus and Rodimus's faces were nearly identical. “We're going to what?!” they bellowed almost in unison.

“Uh . . . I take it . . . you didn't know?”

Rodimus strode forwards and leaned into the little bot. “Tailgate. What. Are. You. Talking. About?”

“Lady Elita has been taken hostage by the Creators,” answered the purple Eurythmian female at his side. “I remember being taken by Lockdown right before it happened.”

“We know that,” Optimus said, his face turning into one of sadness. “They executed her when they destroyed Eurythmia.”

The purple femme shook her head. “No they didn't. I remember being brought into a facility where they must have stuck that program into my head. The Oppressors that worked on me spoke of the Lady in the Tower. They said it was too bad that they couldn't keep two Eurythmians together, especially a One and a Sky Singer.” She cocked her head. “Especially since purple and pink make an attractive color combination.”

The world shrunk to a pin prick of focus for Optimus. He thought for a moment that his very spark would stop, but it kept a steady beat that he could hear in his head. He had thought for a moment upon seeing his daughter, but had pushed that hope away before he could be crushed completely if it turned out to be in vain. All that he could see was a beloved pink face super imposed over this purple one. “What is your name?” he wheezed.

Red optics blinked and her face became gentle. “I am Cyclonus of the Lyric, Sky Singer and Guardian of Ones. I am granddaughter many times removed of your lady, and wish with all my spark to free her of her prison.”

“Think about it,” the blue and red Archon said, “Elita One would make the perfect hostage. She is of a Blessed Line, the last of said line as far as they know now.” He nodded to Rodimus. “The other planets would do anything to prevent her death, especially without the leadership of Cybertron and the Knights. The Creators may speak as much as they like about how they made us, but even the normal Tyran is going to respect one of the Blessed Ones enough to want to prevent her death at all costs.”

Optimus nodded. “What is your name?”

“Ultra Magnus, sir.”

“Ah, that is why you have the look of Tyrest about you,” the elder Prime murmured. “You're of the same family.”

“Yes. Tyrest is my elder brother.” Ultra Magnus frowned. “Though I don't know if he yet lives. I may be the new Justice.”

“No, he lives,” Optimus answered. “Lockdown made mention of him. We Knights were being collected.”

Rodimus cocked her head and turned to her crew. “Ok, who else here is related to or served one of the Blessed Lines?” She had been asking in jest, but was surprised when most of the crew raised their hands.

One of the Velocitronians called out, “Does serving a Speedia count?”

“Yeah,” Rodimus answered, “Serving any leader of a planet counts.”

The rest of the crew raised their hands.

First Aid was the first to speak. “That's how Lockdown got us. When he came for the Knights, he took us as well.”

“But the Knights went to Cybertron,” a Sandokani said.

“Yeah,” one of the Animatrians agreed, “ _But they came back_. I remember they came back in secret. Something about the Primes dying out and then a series of wars sent them out into space for awhile and they decided to come back, see what they could do for Elita One.”

“And as soon as rumors reached them, the Creators struck,” Ultra Magnus finished. He glanced at Optimus. “Why weren't you with them?”

“Because I was in the middle of fighting one of those wars,” Optimus answered sadly. “But that's not when they took you Rodimus.”

“No,” she whispered. “They took me when they took Mama.” She stopped and her optics shuddered quickly in distress. “Oh Primus, I remember.”

“What is it?” her father asked quickly. “Did they hurt you?” The rage in his voice caused even stalwart Ultra Magnus to take a step back.

She shook her head no. “But they told Lockdown . . . I remember now. They took me away from Mama, and dragged me down into a lower chamber. There was the ship and this dark mech. They told him that should he ever hunt down the Knights and bring all of them back he would gain me as his Conjux Endura. 'Think of it,' they said 'She will become your mate, sanctioned by us.'” She looked back up at her father. “He never touched me. Even when I was under the programming, I'm sure. He would take me out of it sometimes, wanting to talk to another Blessed Child like him. Lockdown was Moriturian, a Liege. He wanted me as his prize, but not as a slave to mind control. He tried to convince me that it was for the best since both sides of my family were dead and that he would be good to me.” She cocked her head. “He . . . He wasn't so bad I guess, but I never truly warmed to him because for all his cold gentility, how could I ever willingly mate someone who saw no qualms with betraying his kind? Not to mention his ideas on species purity.”

Optimus couldn't help but smile at his daughter. She loved meeting other sentient species the same way young Bumblebee did. “I'm still glad I gutted him.”

She gave her father a look. “And others would wonder why it wasn't his brutality that turned me off. How could it when he reminds me so much of my dear father? Did you tell him to give you his face?”

The fatherly look she received was cool. “As a matter of fact, I did not.”

She made a sound of surprise. “Not mad enough?”

“Too mad actually,” he replied.


	4. Chapter 3: Friends in Strange Places

_In everyone’s life, at some time, our inner fire goes out. It is then burst into flame by an encounter with another human being. We should all be thankful for those people who rekindle the inner spirit_. ~Albert Schweitzer   
_A true friend is one who thinks you are a good egg even if you are half-cracked._ ~Author Unknown

Cade Yeager stood looking up at his new home with not a little pride. The house was almost exactly the same as the one that had stood on that spot before it, but now held all the most advanced tech that money could buy thanks to the man who stood next to him. 

Joshua Joyce had gone all out when he'd rebuilt the Yeager family home. It wasn't a hush gift – Joyce had blown the whistle on his own company, coming to the American government and willingly taking the penalties they meted out. Granted, wishing to save face, the government merely gave him a slap on the wrist. The United States did not want to admit to the world that they'd had a rogue division in the CIA that had not only worked without authorization within the country (something that directly violated the Agency's own charter) but also taking down targets that had political asylum. Either revelation would hurt the government and the CIA's image almost irreparably. 

Cade had no interest in blowing that particular whistle since he understood after meeting the president himself that Attenger's mission had been to specifically target the Decepticons. Autobots that were registered with Homeland Security and Immigration were supposed to be given the same asylum status as any human. The president had then looked up at the Autobots and given them a sincere apology, but that one had been overshadowed quickly by Joyce's. 

The occasion had been a big one. The president had shown up at the newly completed house with his entire entourage and a couple of reporters. But Joshua had shown up with a semi truck as well that he gestured up the drive after the president's speech. “Look,” he'd said to the four Autobots with a sad look. “I know that I'm the one who should really apologize. In a quest to be the first one to do it, the first one to introduce new technology, I did something horrible to beings that I considered nothing but soulless robots.”

Hound had taken a menacing step forward, but Drift had put a hand out to stop him. “Let us hear what he has to say.”

Joyce nodded his thanks to the blue robot. “But after being around you, talking to you, talking to those who've had more contact with you, I understand now that what I did was so wrong. I didn't stop to think that maybe my dream for a better tomorrow was more Mengele than Jobs, you know? I have stopped all Transformium collection and asked my techs to do one last render.” He nodded towards the truck. 

The two workers that had ridden with it opened the doors and began to pull out something. It looked like a coffin of some sort, and when it was fully unloaded Cade had noticed that it had a glass top. “I have no idea what you guys do to honor the dead, so I could only go off of what us humans do,” Joyce said solemnly. “I figured the least I could do was return your dead to you.”

“Ratchet,” Hound said, taking his helmet off. 

Crosshairs had looked down at Joyce. “Just him?”

Joyce nodded. “My people had not . . . finished with his body by the time of your raid on our facilities. We had just enough Transformium left to render the . . . parts that we had already destroyed.” He'd looked a little green, and Cade had realized that he was actually a little sickened by what he'd ordered his scientists to do. Like Cade, Joyce had stopped seeing robots and saw people when he looked at Autobots. 

Drift knelt before the bald human and looked him in the eye when he said, “Thank you.”

That had been over a month ago, and Joyce continued to come visit once a week. Like Cade he was fascinated by the Autobots and now that he had begun to rebuild his worth in their eyes, the Autobots were more than happy to share their knowledge with Joyce. He and Cade were also working together in order to make the Guard Dawg the next big thing in home defense. Right now, however, they were standing out on Cade's front lawn, drinking beer and chatting with each other. 

“By the way,” Joshua said, “I've received a very interesting call from a man calling himself Colonel Lennox. He said he wanted to know where we were hiding the Autobots.”  
Hound, Crosshairs, and Drift looked confused but Bumblebee visibly perked up from where he was sitting. “Will!” he chirped, using a piece of audio that he must have recorded himself since none of the others recognized the voice.

“You know him Bumblebee?” Joyce asked the yellow bot.

Bee shook his head in the affirmative. “NEST, this is Alpha Team. We are escorting Ali and Buddha into position.”

“Ah, so he was one of those NEST guys,” Cade said, referring to the soldiers in the Non-biological Extraterrestrial Strategic Treaty organization. “Did you tell him?”

“I didn't know who he was so I said that I had no idea what he was talking about,” Joyce answered. “I'm not about to lead another band of wackos to these guys.”

Hound chewed his cygar and Crosshairs sniffed. “Not after ya did such a good job last time, right?” the bright green one murmured. 

Drift said nothing, just pointed one of his swords towards the road. “Yes, but it looks like someone else did.”

A shiny black SUV that screamed government slowly approached from up the driveway with a silver Corvette, two Dodge Chargers in police livery, a purple Dodge Viper, and white Silverado that looked like it had some sort of official livery unfamiliar to Cade forming a caravan. The vehicles approached cautiously, obviously mindful of the fact that this piece of land was considered an official reservation to the United States government. Cade Yeager had found his humble home spread turned into a refuge for the four Autobots that continued to protect his family. He didn't mind though, and Tessa had enjoyed telling her friends right before they all left for their vacation in Miami that her house was on the newly christened New Iacon Reservation. 

Granted, the United States had more or less bought the ranch since it had in fact been in foreclosure and agreed to allow Cade to live on the Reservation with the Autobots. However, Cade chose to not mention that. 

The black SUV pulled up and a man hopped out of the front passenger side. He was dressed smartly in an Army uniform spangled with ribbons and medals. He looked to be around Cade's age and had a friendly face. He approached the two men sitting on the picnic table with a small smile. “Good evening gentlemen,” he said in greeting before looking up at the yellow bot that had sprung to his feet and walked towards the caravan. “Hey Bee!”

“Will!” he called again. 

The colonel turned back to the SUV. “Hey Bobby, he remembers you too!”

Another man hopped out of the vehicle, this time from the driver's side. He was a tall black man dressed in nice jeans and a white polo shirt. “Heya Bee! Still savin' the world I see!”

Bee was almost vibrating with joy. He made an electronic sound that Cade could swear was a shout of happy laughter. The colonel looked to the two men. “Sorry, I'm Colonel William Lennox, United States Army. This is Robert Epps, United States Air Force, retired.”

The four men shook hands, and as soon as the human ritual of greeting was over Bee scooped up the colonel and then Epps in turn, giving each man a Cybertronian version of a hug. Cade chuckled and Joyce shook his head at Bee's exuberance. “I take it he missed the two of you,” Joyce said. 

Lennox smiled. “Well, the feeling's mutual.”

“So, why are you guys here?” Cade asked, finally getting down to business. 

The Army man smiled. “We heard this was a reservation for Autobots now. Decided that since Cemetery Wind and that bounty hunter are no longer a threat it would be okay to deliver some more Autobots to their new home.”

At this, a veritable gaggle of people exited the other vehicles who then began to rock and shake. Metal slid and spun around and the various cars and truck became robots. A happy sound once again issued from Bumblebee as he beheld the newest citizens of New Iacon and the people they had with them. “Mr. Yeager, meet Sideswipe, Prowl, Strongarm, Nightbird, and Red Alert. They're your newest robot house mates.”

The five robots were already conferring with their fellow Autobots. They turned and all gave Cade their attention. “So,” said the black and white Dodge, “You are the one that we are to consider an Autobot.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” Cade answered. 

The robot nodded. “I am Prowl, tactician.”

“I'm Sideswipe,” the silver one piped up. “Warrior.”

“Medical Officer Second Class Red Alert,” said the red and white robot. 

The purple one nodded to him as well. “I am Autobot designation Nightbird. Intelligence gathering.”

“Name's Strongarm,” the blue and white one said. “Autobot Justice Department.” 

Cade blinked. The second two were not like the first three. “Uh, nice to meet you.”

Lennox, well aware what the puzzled look meant, grinned. “Yeah, Strongarm and Nightbird identify as female.”

“Yeah, there are girl Transformers,” Epps agreed. 

Strongarm glanced up at Nightbird. “Apparently our gender is considered odd.”

Nightbird cut her friend a look. “One would think they would be used to a bi-gender species since they are of one themselves.”

“Girls,” one of the ladies that had all but fallen out of one of the Autobots said. She was an older lady with ginger hair and friendly eyes. She waved a hand that wasn't holding a baby at Cade. “These ladies never cease to tease. I'm Judy Witwicky by the way, and this is my grandson Micah.”

The young boy appeared to be between two and three with curly brown hair and bright eyes. A young man stepped up to stand beside the woman, and he had the baby's bright eyes even though his left eye was marred by a large scar that slashed across the corner. “I'm Sam, and this is my wife Carly.”

The beautiful blond smiled at him and held out her hand. “A pleasure,” she murmured, her British accent charming and slightly unexpected.

“Nice to meet you too,” Cade replied. He grinned. “And welcome! Uh, I have beer and some juice, but I wasn't expecting company.”

Joyce grinned. “You're never expecting company.”

“Bupbupbup,” Cade said, gesturing with his palms out at Joyce. “Don't cast aspersions on my hospitality.”

A brunette woman stepped up to him next. She was beautiful and dressed in an outfit that hugged the sleek curves of her body. She looked like she used the same style tips Tessa did. “I'm Mikaela Banes. Nice to meet you.”

An older woman with a palpable air of command approached along with a gangly, awkward looking man who had a silly smile on his face. “Charlotte Mearing, former Director of Intelligence.”

“Mearing-Simmons,” the man piped up. 

Charlotte looked over at him with an expression that chilled Cade to the bone. “This is Seymour Simmons, my new bride.”

His goofy smile didn't change. “Aw, now honey . . .”

“Newlyweds,” Sideswipe said in a stage whisper. 

Seymour and Charlotte smiled at each other then while the others chuckled, even Cade and Joshua. “Alright, well, why don't you guys come on in and get something to drink.”  
“Good thing I added that extra square footage to the family room,” Joyce muttered. “Make sure you use the good glasses Cade.”

Cade shot him a look. “Yes, honey.”

Lennox cocked a brow. “I, uh, didn't know you two were together.”

Joyce looked at Cade, expecting one of Cade's seemingly random transformations into the Texas Rager where the man puffed out his chest and menaced whoever had made the unfortunate mistake of pissing him off. Joyce didn't necessarily think that Cade was a homophobe, but throwing his heterosexuality in question could possibly be a trigger. However, he found himself surprised in this instance. 

“We're barn husbands.”

Joyce found himself to be the one sputtering in rage. “ _We are not!_ ”

“Aw, look,” Epps said to Lennox, “They remind me of us back in the day.”

“I never called you my barn husband.”

“No, but I seem to remember being referred to as 'Sergeant Hubby.'”

At this point, they noticed the girl standing on the porch giving them a look. “But Dad, I thought Optimus was your barn husband.”

This brought Joshua and Cade's playful fight to an end with a gasp from Judy Witwicky. “You're cheating on Optimus?”

Sam face-palmed. “Mom, none of them are actually serious.” He glanced back at Tessa. “Are you?”

Shane had also walked out of the house and said, “Well, I do remember Optimus and Cade being really tight . . .”

“Keep it up Lucky Charms and you'll find out how magically delicious my foot is,” Cade snapped. 

Judy walked up to the couple but turned back to Cade for a moment. “Hey, I don't blame you. He should have been named Optimus _Fine_.”

“Oh. God, Mom, please stop,” Sam moaned. 

Tessa gave him a lopsided grin. “Glad to know my dad isn't the only one.” She turned to Judy. “Hi, I'm Tessa and this is my boyfriend Shane.” She leaned in to whisper, “And I kind of agree with you about Optimus. He's kinda sexy for a robot.”

Carly had also approached the teenager and caught the whisper. She laughed, “Yeah, he is isn't he?”

“Jeez, what are all of you, Optimus Prime groupies or something?” Shane asked. 

The group of people who had arrived out of the blue went quiet, as did Cade, Joshua, and Tessa. They all looked at each other, and it was Epps who spoke. “After all we've seen him do, yeah. We are.”

Mearing nodded. “Optimus Prime is our friend.” She turned to Cade. “And I understand that we have you to thank for making sure he stayed our friend.”

Cade blushed a bit. “All I did was remind him that humans weren't all bad.”

Simmons gave him a big smile. “Still, he needed someone to remind him. He needed a friend.”

Cade finally returned the smile while looking up to the sky. “Yeah, I guess he did.”


	5. Duet for the Beginning of Time

_You are the music while the music lasts. ~T.S. Eliot  
Gravitation is not responsible for people falling in love. ~Albert Einstein_

Optimus glanced up at his beloved daughter with a smile. She was currently locked into heated verbal battle with Ultra Magnus, the Archon who had apparently appointed himself her unofficial first mate. The red and blue Autobot wasn't entirely sure what they were battling over this time since it varied from day to day and generally involved fighting over nothing at all, but their battles were welcome distractions from the hard work of cleaning up the Knight's ship.

By Optimus's reckoning they'd been at it for about two Earth months, working round the clock on shifts in order to not only rid themselves of Lockdown's cruel, criminal menagerie but to also repair parts of the ship that had fallen into pitiful disarray. It was quite depressing for him alone since he remembered the ship as it had been – shining silver and spotlessly clean as the Thirteen had trained on it and then met on it to plan their strategies for holding off the Creators.

He also remembered the special day that had taken place here so long ago.

Rodimus looked up at her father to seek his agreement, but found him smiling into the distance. She couldn't help but smile and forget what she was going to say. “Thinking about Mama?”

He looked back at his daughter. “Yes. You remind me so much of her.”

A brow cocked over bright blue optics. “Especially when I argue?”

Optimus let out a low chuckle. “Yes, especially then.”

Ultra Magnus smiled as well. “I take it Rodimus gains her temper from her mother?”

“If by temper you mean her spectacular need for attention,” Optimus replied with a particular twinkle, “Then yes.”

“Hey!”

Ultra Magnus's amused smile became a satisfied smirk. “Well, Eurhythmians are known as being divas.”

“Hey!” Rodimus rounded on him. “And you are the typical pushy, uptight Archon!”

From her perch leaning into a bank of instruments Whirl let out the rejoinder, “Stereotype!”

“But true!” Rodimus retorted.

Whirl leaned out of the bank. She looked at Ultra Magnus, then shrugged. “Yes, true, true.”

Magnus gave her the stink optic.

Whirl ignored him in favor of speaking to Optimus. “Hey, is it true that Lady Elita tricked you out of your virginity?”

“Whirl!” Rodimus and Ultra Magnus cried in appalled unison.

Optimus, on the other hand, merely laughed. “Yes, it's true.”

“Daddy!”

“Well, as I said before, you get your stubbornness from your mother,” he replied placidly. “And your mother was dead set on getting me to stand still long enough for her to apologize . . .”

~~  
Elita looked into the mirror and grimaced. No matter what Windblade said, it was most certainly _not_ okay that she would be so disgracefully ungraceful tripping over her own feet. Not only that, but every time she tried to talk to him, Optimus would run the other way!

She'd never had that problem before.

Elita One was honest with herself. She was a bit of a diva, expecting the proper reverence and awe. Oh, she wasn't one to _need_ the spotlight all the time, but she would damn well have it when she wanted it. And she wanted it now. She needed to make amends to Optimus. It had never sat well with her that the Knights had treated a young one so badly. If Elita found something cute, then it was to be protected at all costs. Needless to say, she found the young Prime adorable.

Of course, now she found that he was handsome. Perhaps still a little adorable though. He had cocked his head nearly sideways when he saw her. She smiled at that.

The door to her hab suite slid open and a cheery female voice floated in, “ _Oh sister dear!_ ”

“Yes, Strika?” she called back, watching her elder sister all but floating into the room. Strika was a large female built on the typical Eurythmian frame but where Elita was pink and white, she was purple and gray.

Strika plopped onto the bed with a giggle. Unlike other Tyrans who preferred firm bedding, Eurythmians liked soft pillows. “I want to dance tonight.”

“You want to dance every night,” Elita retorted, “You are Lady of Dance.”

The purple female snorted. “This is true.” She glanced around the room and then back at her sister with a sly look. “But I would think that you'd like to dance for other reasons.”

Elita turned to give her sister a pithy retort, but stopped, an idea dawning. “Of course!”

“Wow, was it really that much of a revelation?”

“No!” Elita cried, “I've been trying to apologize to him but he keeps running! He won't run if I choose him for the night!”

Strika shuttered her optics once, and then once again. “You aren't serious?”

The pink Lady of Lyric gave her sister a look. “I'm apologizing to him. Now. Tonight.”

“By blitzing a poor defenseless young adult who probably hasn't even been touched?” Strika asked with no lack of seriousness. “Kid probably barely knows how to use his equipment much less ready to go toe to toe with one as experienced as you.”

“I didn't say I was going to actually have sex,” Elita stated. “I just want him to stand still long enough to let me apologize.”

Strika rolled her optics up to the ceiling and shook her head. “You and your stubbornness. Now come on, let's go get the rest of our crew.”

The rest of the afternoon saw the nine Ones preparing for an impromptu performance. Strika, Elita, Andromeda, Beta, Minerva, Combusta, Falcia, Scylla, and Ida all happily teased and joked in the common arena of the Knight Ship, their rainbow colors brightening the gunmetal gray surroundings. All of them were built along the same svelte, curving lines, but each arrayed in different colors. Others stopped to watch the spectacle, most having never seen all of the Ones together. Their laughter rang throughout the ship, reminding all and sundry of what their people were sometimes called - “Primus' Joy.”

Elita was laughing at something Scylla said when she glanced up. Optimus Prime was watching with his mother and father. Solus Prime met her gaze and the anger in the Prime's optics would have made a lesser being cringe. Elita was well aware that she was of equal status with the female Prime, and while she admitted that she had wronged Solus' son, Solus herself had no quarrel with her. Elita turned back to her sisters and continued their good-natured fun.

Finally the work day was done and the many different robots started to really assemble. The higher ranking bots, the various Primes, Magi, and assorted other Blessed Children ringed the floor sitting on the lowest tier of benches so that they had the best view of the dancing. The other motley Tyrans began to fill in the rows, until the room was filled to the brim. The nine ladies standing on the floor looked up at their audience and bowed low. Beta, as the oldest sister, stepped forward and addressed the audience, “Primus be in your sparks!”

“And also in yours!” the audience replied.

“We, the nine sister Ones of Eurythmia welcome you tonight! Tonight, we dance for you, and some of you may find yourselves with company for the night!” She laughed and gestured to the musicians that had taken up their kithara, salpinx, arghul, sistrum, and tympanum. The group began to play a spritely tune that caused the assembled Tyrans to clap and click along with the music. The nine Ones began to dance, their bodies moving in quick, short movements.

Elita felt her body moving and couldn't help but smile. Out of the corner of her vision she saw Strika laughing as she spun and leaped, awing the Tyrans watching with her exuberance. The music changed, becoming softer, and Andromeda took the lead. She began to recount the tale of the Blessed Children versus the Heralds of Unicron. The Lady of History told the tale with maybe a bit less verve and embellishment than some of her sisters would, but her particular interests and love was for facts. After her only the tympanum played as Falcia took her turn, her voice a low murmur that everyone stopped fidgeting just to hear. The Lady of Tragedy told of the Betrayal, when a Prime of the Generation 1, Nova, tricked two of his other siblings, Nominus and Zeta, into following Unicron.

After that the sisters danced again, Combusta coming forward as the Lady of Hymns singing a ballad in remembrance of Nominus and Zeta, the two who had been so cruelly tricked. The sisters danced their sparks out for the two brothers, and Elita caught the look on Solus Prime's face as she quickly buried it into her Conjux's shoulder. Nominus had been her son by Nexus and Zeta her child by Prima. Prima and Nexus both watched the dancing with far away eyes, their gazes full of sadness.

The music ended for a moment before Combusta stepped to the side and Scylla stepped forward. The Lady of Elegy said a prayer, and Minerva pointed to two stars that shown brightly in the night beyond the clear dome of the ceiling. “Look there,” she said, “Those stars we know are plasma and heat, but so are our sparks. Look there and give one last look to Nominus and Zeta.” The Lady of Astronomy stepped back, and there was one last moment of silence.

Ida looked left and then right, and then all but hopped into the middle of the floor. She began a bawdy song about an Archon and a Sandokani whom everyone knew to refer to one of the Justices by the name of Dominus Magnus, and the Sandokani in question was none other than Bittumen, Maccadam's younger sister. The pair laughed along though, well aware that even though they'd led their families a merry chase it all had a good ending. Archon and Sandokan had become the best of friends after that particular episode.

Elita looked to Beta, and the eldest sister shook her head. Elita took that to mean that Beta wanted her to be the finale, and that Beta had finally chosen what she wished to contribute to tonight's performance. Beta turned to the musicians, gesturing for them to play something majestic and grand.

The light green Eurythmian female gestured her sisters back and turned to take on the audience. With fire in her optics and her voice, the Lady of Epic swept the audience away into the past where gods ruled the physical realms and few mortal things survived. She told to tale of the birth of Primus, his first defeat of Unicron, and then his decision to create his own race. There she stopped, and looked to Elita.

Elita had been standing at the ready, close to where Optimus and his family were. She turned to them and said, “I need a Primus.”

The others began to murmur among themselves, excitement brewing. Elita ignored the murmurs, focused instead on the young Prime. She took several steps closer, and Optimus finally looked her right in the eye. “Will you be my Primus?”

The young Prime opened his mouth, but nothing came out. A couple of Moriturians began to heckle from their perches on the other side of the room. “Hey, why not choose us!”

Elita half expected Solus to say something derisive, but it was the quiet Megatronus who spoke to his son first. “Go on, young one. You have a fine voice.”

“Yes, please brother Optimus!” a young female Prime piped up. “Sing for us!”

“Sing for us!” another Prime called from down the row, a male that Elita thought was named Sentinel.

“Your voice is perfect for the part of Primus!” one of the Cybertronian Seekers called out.

Prima laughed from down the line and to the little group's left. “Go on! Show this Eurythmian that maybe we don't have Primacon's touch, but we still have the ability to create just as well as any of Primus's Joy.” The Lady of Lyric didn't miss the slightly derisive look Prima threw Optimus, but her attention quickly returned to the Prime she really cared about.

Elita watched the young Prime seeming to come to some decision. He stood, and leaped down from behind Vector and his son Alpha Trion. He didn't look at Elita, but instead walked out to the middle of the stage area. Beta gave the young one a smile that her younger, pink sister was displeased to note was returned by the handsome red and blue Prime. Not letting the displeasure show, Elita walked out to the middle of the stage with him, and waved to the musicians to launch into the song. Kithara and chalys first, then tympanum, sistrum, and crotalum played a driving melody as Elita began to sing.

_“I’ve come to love you ‘till the end_  
of this light that leads our divine bodies.  
I’ll love you with this star that beats inside and lasts without end. 

_Love, as much as it’s needed!_  
So, refuse the darkness, I love you  
Give up, what for?  
To give up is the end  
You exist in me.” 

Optimus still didn't look at her, but his voice rang out when his entrance came. Elita danced in the age-old rhythms, twirling as she imagined her mother Primacon did so long ago. She lost herself in his bass voice rumbling from his chest with all the dark beauty of a moonlit sky.

_“I've come to serve love_  
and to lay my weapons at your feet  
So that you never stop loving me.  
Shall the world always be like this?  
Just like the stars shining in the night  
So as to attend upon the moons? 

_Love, as much as it’s needed!_  
I refuse the darkness, I love you  
Cry, what for?  
To cry is the end  
You exist in me.” 

As the chalys and kithara played, Elita moved so that he had to look at her. In the mere seconds that the musicians dominated, he finally looked into her eyes. She almost missed her cue staring into those deep pools of azure.

“ _The stars entwine as one. The darkness grows and the solution is only you and me!_ ” she belted with almost desperate vigor.

He stepped towards her and caught one of her hands, “ _The spark feeds on the thoughts of the mind, and to protect and love you feeds mine!_ ”

The audience forgotten, they finished the duet as if possessed by the spirits of the long ago gods whose words they repeated. Elita couldn't look away from those blue optics as her mezzo-soprano blended with his bass.

_“Love, as much as it’s needed!_  
So, refuse the darkness, I love you  
Give up, what for?  
To give up is the end.  
You exist in me!” 

The musicians finished the outro, the driving rhythms fading from strings then percussion, but neither singer faced the audience. Elita examined this male creature that she had only wanted to apologize to. In mere moments he'd gone from simply a young one that she'd wronged to a potential equal. His voice _was_ as good as the other Primes had said, but she was less concerned with that than with what she saw in his eyes.

“Dance with me?” she asked softly.

He shuttered his optics, then again, and then shook himself. It was like he was reminding himself that he was _terrified_ of her. “I -”

The music began, and Elita realized that her sisters had already made their choices and were leading them out onto the floor. “Too late!” Elita chirped, using the grasp he still had on her right hand to swing him into the dance.

He was a bit awkward following the steps, but he was a passable dancer. As he followed her through the complicated steps of the Eurythmian mating dance he started to lose his self-consciousness and enjoy the movement. The pair swirled and twirled, Elita trying her best to entice, Optimus not having a clue as to what was really going on. He didn't even protest when she was the first to whirl him out from the chamber, and then quickly lead him back to her rooms.

As soon as the door shut, he blinked slowly, looking around at the chamber. As a high ranking Tyran she was afforded a large room and had decorated it to her tastes. Elita favored dark blues and purples that set off her rose coloring. She knew that the darker shades of the room made her pink and white body glow. “I'm sorry that I was cruel to you,” she said.

Optimus shook his head. “It's alright. I understand why you did what you did.”

Elita stepped forward, and gave him a smile. “But I needed to tell you that nonetheless.”

The younger male nodded. He glanced around, his every movement screaming uncertainty. Then, hesitantly, he stepped closer to her and cupped her chin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The _Duet of Primus and Primacon_ was modified from the English translation of the song, _Voce Existe em Mim_ performed by Josh Groban.   
>  The translation used -> http://lyricstranslate.com/en/voce-existe-em-mim-you-exist-me.html#ixzz39pWUb2Ai
> 
> As a musician, I would also like to point out that the chapter title is a pun on the famous _Quartet for the End of Time_ by Olivier Messiaen.
> 
> Also, I don't believe I've mentioned it, but the Nine Ones are each based off of the Nine Muses from Greco-Roman Mythology. The instruments mentioned are also based off of ancient Mediterranean instruments. I had a bit too much fun going Greco-Roman with the influences.


End file.
